Sunrise Serenade
by MoonGoddessShadow
Summary: Lassiter wakes up with someone in his bed, who by all means should never be there, yet he's actually not all that angry about having around. Shassie. Sequel to In the Mood.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well, _In the Mood _was supposed to stand alone, maybe be a part of some larger Shassieverse, and yet once there was a request for a sequel, I started getting ideas and while it took a little while longer than I'd hoped, here it is, for your reading pleasure, cos lord knows we need more activity in this little fandom. ...Yeah, rambling again. Sorry. A second chapter is being worked on right now, just no timetables for when that'll be ready. For now, enjoy!

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The moment Carlton began to wake up, several important observations flitted through his mind. First, he felt better rested than he usually did. Second, it was much later in the morning than he generally woke up, if the bright sun lighting up his bedroom was any indication. Third, there was someone else in his bed. Fourth, and most interestingly, this other person was Shawn Spencer.

Every klaxon in his brain buzzed at this revelation, screaming that this should be some sort of huge, cataclysmic surprise, and it probably should have been. After all, this was Shawn Spencer. The guy who ran circles around him and the entire SBPD while throwing out witty one-liners that referenced eighties pop culture he didn't understand. The guy who teased him day in and day out, who sat on his lap and made shocking innuendos that undoubtedly had other officers gossiping. The guy who, by all accounts, should have been the person least likely to end up in his bed, right below Tom Arnold, Columbo and the entire squad of Dallas cheerleaders.

Yet there lay Shawn Spencer, perfect hair mussed, mouth slightly open, whole body partially tangled in his sheets, one arm hanging over the edge, and nothing about that really bothered Carlton. In fact, it was almost kind of nice. It had been a long while since he'd woken up next to a warm body, and he'd almost forgotten how enjoyable that was. Victoria and Lucinda had never been cuddlers, or the affectionate kinds at all, and he wasn't a one-night stand sort of guy, so that had left him many mornings with a cold, untouched half of a bed.

Shawn, on the other hand, lacked just as much personal space in bed as he did in real life. Somehow, one of his legs was twined between Carlton's own and the arm not hanging off the side of the bed was draped over the older man's chest, fingers absently drumming an arrhythmic beat on his side. Most likely some one-hit wonder or a movie theme song, as played by someone deeply sleeping. He didn't waste any thoughts on what it could possibly be, since he had almost no chance of figuring it out; he just relaxed into the feeling of Shawn next to him.

Flashes of last night came to him as he listened to Shawn's slow, even breathing, flashes of the club, of their clean and simple arrest, of the way time came to a molasses crawl as Shawn pressed against him and Glenn Miller filled the air. It seemed sudden, the one-eighty spin from wishing Spencer would go away to being tangled up with him in bed, and yet it made some sort of sense.

They'd been dancing around one another for a long time, with small truths hidden under joking innuendos, with fleeting touches that had so much more subtext than they ever really acknowledged, with stolen glances and averted eyes. Last night had just been the breaking point.

That was the only way he could realistically explain his sudden change in mentality last night. Feelings for Spencer had been building in the depths of his mind for a long time, possibly since the first irritating day they'd met, but he'd pretty much ignored them. Last night, his will to pretend had just evaporated, worn down by his lack of sleep, need for control and (not that he'd ever admit it) Spencer's occasionally subtle persistence. A three in the morning, it just took too much energy to bury those feelings.

And now here they were. They'd joked, danced, almost kissed and ended up sleeping together without _sleeping_ together. It was, by all means, a miracle. Carlton knew that it was improbable, nigh impossible, that they'd made it this far without killing each other, or at least having some sort of frustration-fueled sex. Like always, though, Shawn Spencer seemed to defy his expectations. Last night, he'd been mostly quiet and obedient, two adjectives Lassiter had never really applied to Shawn seriously. They just didn't seem to fit him, any way you cast their meaning.

He'd quietly danced, no words, no jokes, nothing to sully the moment. He'd allowed Lassiter to lead him upstairs, to order him into bed. He'd attempted a little pseudo-striptease, sure, but Carlton reasoned that there was only so much of his usual playfulness he could restrict. Besides, he wasn't complaining, not one bit. Shawn was young, handsome, lean in a way that denoted exactly zero time at the gym. He was fun, and lively, and pure energy. He was everything Carlton wasn't.

Which raised the 'why me?' flag for the detective. He was stubborn, boring, married to his job, overall hard to get along with, and he could admit it. There was nothing about him that begged for the younger man's attention, nothing he could see that would beg for anyone's attention. Shawn could have anyone–someone more exciting or more attractive or more fun. Someone who wasn't Carlton.

But he was still here. He hadn't fled in the middle of the night. That had to be a good sign, right? Even if Carlton didn't see much in himself, Shawn obviously saw something, and that thought was enough to chase most of the older man's dark thoughts away. Maybe Shawn would flee when he woke up, realize what a huge mistake he'd made in his sleepy haze, but Carlton chose to believe otherwise. Their moment last night, as Moonlight Serenade swam through the room, was too real to be a mistake. It just had to be.

So he decided to just keep laying in bed, absorbing the closeness of Shawn despite the fact that it was many hours later than he usually woke up. At least the Chief had cleared him to come in late today, since the investigation and arrest had run late into the night.

He was usually out of bed as soon as he woke up, ready to get to whatever he had planned for the day, whether it was work, chores or some of his rare recreational time. Right now, forgoing his usual up-and-at-'em attitude was just fine with him. Today was just too unusual to apply a routine to it, as foreign a concept as that seemed to him.

Of course, if Shawn was willing, he wouldn't mind making a routine out of waking up like this.

Next to him, Shawn shifted, scooting closer so that his sheet-entangled body was now nearly flush with the detective's, and licked his lips, which instantly drew Carlton's gaze to them. They were lightly pink, full, now faintly glistening. They were, in short, completely entrancing. He found himself leaning in toward Shawn's mouth, attention almost laser-focused on those lips.

Despite the fact that he'd hadn't been this forward in decades–Victoria had slowly beaten this kind of youthful romanticism out of him with those withering, 'oh please grow up' looks of hers–the idea of kissing Shawn was just too irresistible. After all, they'd been denied a first kiss last night, when the timing was so perfect; it was only fair they get another equally sweet chance to make this happen.

Maybe the younger man's spontaneity was rubbing off on him.

Before the unsettling idea of Shawn influencing him that much could settle in, Carlton closed the small gap between their lips.

Just like he imagined, Shawn's lips were warm and wet, and actually fairly responsive for being attached to a sleeping person. Carlton made no move to deepen the kiss, lingering with pressed lips for a few moments, but did allow a hand to rest on the younger man's hip. A thread of nervousness twined its way across his body, filling him with those jitters that he hadn't felt since he was a stupid teenager tentatively kissing his first girlfriend. Everything about Shawn was vaguely dangerous like that, but this had an extra dollop of 'oh shit, what if he thinks this is a mistake and I'm crossing a line' added for flavor.

God, Shawn really was wearing off on him.

Though his eyes were shut, he knew the other man was slowly waking up. His mouth moved against Carlton's, sluggishly at first but with increasing enthusiasm; the hand formerly tapping out music on his side found its way up to the older man's cheek. He could feel the smile on Shawn's lips as he pulled back, which went a long way in reassuring him that the younger man wasn't about to run, not yet.

"That's a helluva way to wake a guy up, you know," Shawn murmured, sleep still thick in his voice. Still, he chuckled and added, "Especially for our first kiss." His warm breath ghosted against Carlton's lips, greatly reducing his ability to think coherently. Everything around him was warm, entangling, fruity, and he liked it. He'd forgotten how nice it was to just lay in bed wrapped up in another willing body.

"I'll keep that in mind," Lassiter replied, a rare smile gracing his lips. He pulled Shawn impossibly closer as the younger man's eyes finally peeked open. They met eyes for a second but, seeing as their faces were still less than an inch apart, the romantic effect was mostly lost in the cross-eyed look Shawn ended up giving him. Funnily enough, this didn't annoy him like it usually would have; he just grinned and leaned in for another kiss.

It was a little less one-sided this time, seeing as they were both awake for all of it. Just like Carlton expected (not that he'd thought about it much or anything, really), Shawn was all exuberance, building up his passion and ferocity to match the detective's own. If he'd really been able to form a complete thought at that moment, he probably would've figured that, after years of this slowly falling into place, Shawn was just releasing all of his pent-up desires toward him. God knows Carlton was doing the same.

Breathlessly, they pulled apart a minute later; he didn't know about Shawn, but Lassiter knew that if they went on any longer, he'd never make it into work today, even late.

"Aww, c'mon Lassie. You're such a tease," Shawn breathed, rolling onto his back but staying as physically close to the other man as he could. Carlton just grinned lazily and glanced to the so-called psychic, eyebrows raised.

"Says the guy who touches me every chance he gets." Shawn didn't look back over at him, but his lower lip did stick out in a slight pout.

"Not fair. If I'd known back then that you were interested, I'd have been here a lot sooner." Carlton's chest tightened at that honest statement, actually tightened like in some harlequin romance drivel. Just the idea that he could've had this for years now made him wish he'd broken down and given in years ago, no matter how bad an idea it had seemed. Shawn, noticing how quiet he'd become with a sideways glance, plowed on. "Besides, I seem to remember you being the one to start it."

"Oh really?" Lassiter replied, drawn from his thoughts back to the man pressed up against him. Shawn turned his head to look directly into his eyes.

"Yessiree Bob. You pulled me out of the interrogation room and slammed me up against a wall." He paused, laughing quietly, almost to himself, and then went on. "That was when I knew there was something between us." He grinned his usual Shawn Spencer grin, again filling Carlton's chest with a foreign feeling. This time, of course, it was light, like helium.

Jesus, he was like some stupid love struck teenager. The scariest part was, he kind of liked it. It had been ages since anyone had made him feel this way. Even though he considered himself to be fairly traditional, Victoria had enforced rules that were, well, Victorian. That had limited his own romantic tendencies, and been the start to a relationship that quickly devolved into nothing but formal arrangements. Even Lucinda, his attempt at a rebound, had been so like his wife, so unaffectionate, that it was doomed from the start.

He'd always assumed he just had a type, and that type happened to be distant. After all, he was old enough by now to know what kind of woman he liked. He'd come to terms with the fact that he wasn't the type of guy who attracted warm, tender women.

That, of course, didn't account for his taste in men. It'd always been a niggling voice in the back of his mind, but his (ex-)wife had talked him out of believing it several times. She couldn't have her proper husband having a wandering eye, for women or men. Even back then, though, any guy that caught his eye was nothing like Shawn. Good-looking, maybe, but all responsible, hardworking types. Not the lackadaisical slacker that Shawn was.

Which, he reminded himself, was why it had taken so long for him to break down and give in. He'd not only convinced himself that liking men as well as women wasn't his way, but that someone like Shawn Spencer wasn't his type. Hell, he hadn't really dated, or even seriously looked at, a guy like Shawn before, and until he met the guy, he thought he knew his type.

Sure, it was a type that never worked out, but, hey, at least it was consistent.

Shawn, on the other hand, was a complete break. From day one, he'd gotten under Carlton's skin, annoyed him, made him look like a fool, turned his job, his life, into a playground. The detective only vaguely remembered the time Spencer was referencing as the moment he knew there was something between them, but he could only figure that his own attraction had started around the same time. After all, no one bothered him like Shawn did, not so much that he physically assaulted them.

No, Shawn was utterly different from every potential relationship in his past, and that was why, despite every misgiving about how bad an idea this could be, Lassiter had a good feeling. (Though the comfort of being able to lie in a warm bed next to someone and not worry about much of anything probably contributed to the good vibes.)

Since the 'psychic' was awake and still here, he obviously didn't think this was some sort of sleepy mistake. That thought alone did a lot to soothe Carlton's worries. The only thing that really weighed heavily on him was how long it would last. He had a bad habit of getting too emotionally involved right before the other person cut it off, and Shawn's penchant for dating girls one after the other wasn't exactly a secret. Now that he'd quit fighting it, how long would it go on before Shawn got bored? Lassiter didn't exactly do flings, and he'd had enough relationships fall apart to suit him for several lifetimes.

Honestly, he didn't want things to fall apart with Shawn too, but the younger man did have a track record. They could get involved, close enough for Carlton to really care, and then Shawn would show up at the station with some college girl from a bar that he'd met the night before and it would all be over without a word.

Of course, if he said anything about it now, it could just as easily end before it started, and he surprisingly didn't want that either. With a slight jolt, he realized that he was already emotionally involved. (After five years of skirting each other, who wouldn't be?) He wanted to wake up next to Shawn every morning. He wanted to dance together again. He wanted to feel that bit of pride that came with making Shawn obedient. He cared about this working out, and he didn't even know what this was yet.

Well, damn.

He sighed almost inaudibly, drawing Shawn's attention back to him. Carlton glanced to those eyes, somewhere impossibly between hazel, green and blue.

"You still up there, Lassie? You haven't had your brain covertly abducted by aliens, have you?" Shawn asked, eyebrows raised as if serious. "Because if you have, we can't tell Gus. He will fliiiip out. Seriously, that man is paranoid about the weirdest things. He worries about banshee-proofing the Psych office, but not the fact the Backstreet Boys and New Kids on the Block are touring together. I mean, really? No Menudo? They were just as good, if not b-"

"Spencer," Lassiter stated evenly, different from the way he usually growled the last name, "shut up." Instantly, the psychic was quiet, giving him that small satisfaction. Quickly, though, he seemed to remember himself, as a bright grin lit up his face.

"Ooh, Lassie, I get chills when you get all authoritative like that," Shawn cooed, grin taking on a more seductive twist. "Maybe you can boss me around some more." He leaned in, predatorily, giving Lassiter only a second to wonder how Shawn had turned this around on him so quickly before Shawn's lips, assertive but tender, were pressed to his again. His mind quickly aborted all attempts at coherent thought, and his mouth parted easily, allowing himself to explore the new territory that was Shawn's mouth; it ended a second later when Shawn pulled back, lingering only for a moment to nip at Carlton's lower lip.

It took him longer than it should have to reopen his eyes, reveling in the simple existence of Shawn Spencer, only to find that when he did open his eyes, Shawn was staring back at him playfully.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, as if he hadn't just blatantly teased Carlton with that kiss. The older man blinked at this apparent non-sequitur, immediately abandoning all attempts to understand how things segued in Shawn's mind. Shawn, though, just rubbed his stomach with one hand. "I'm starved, and it's totally–" He glanced over Carlton's shoulder to look at the clock on the night stand. "Eleven forty-two. So time for breakfast!" He leapt up out of bed, still working a few mental steps ahead of Lassiter, who was just starting to process the fact that Shawn wanted breakfast when it was nearly noon.

Strolling casually to the doorway, Shawn managed to only trip once over the extra long pajama pants he currently wore, a folly which he nearly managed to smoothly transition into a small display of ballet-like dancing. Brain finally catching up, Carlton managed to smirk at this, an eyebrow quirking. He even showed what he considered to be remarkable restraint, considering that Shawn was wearing _his_ plaid pajama pants and goddamn if that wasn't at least a little hot.

At the doorway, Shawn paused, turning to soak in Carlton's smile for a second before asking, "Pancakes or waffles?" The detective considered this for a moment–he was pretty sure he didn't have the ingredients for either food, or the frozen versions–but he knew that if Shawn was asking, he'd somehow make it happen. Carlton just wasn't sure he wanted to know how.

"Both," he replied, adding just a hint of challenge to his simple reply. He knew that was a dangerous idea, challenging someone who could invariably meet only the strangest and most difficult of challenges, but he was pretty sure that if he was throwing out all his preconceived notions about his type of romantic interest or how he felt about Shawn Spencer, he could afford to throw caution to the wind.

Maybe just for the morning, depending on if Shawn burned down his house trying to make simple waffles.

His answer was apparently the right one, though, because Shawn just grinned wider.

"Good choice, Carly-town," he said, and bounded out of the doorway to descend the stairs.

"Don't call me that," Lassiter snapped, voice lacking most real venom.

"No problem, Carly-Q," was the shouted response. Already, he could hear the clinking of pots and pans, and felt a familiar sense of aggravation settle in his chest. Not much, like he knew it could be, but just enough to know that this wasn't always going to be sunshine and morning kisses.

A loud yelp emanated from downstairs; Carlton groaned and swung his legs out of bed. If Shawn was going to burn his house down, he was at least going to shower first.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry if the last chapter got a little too heavy on the introspection; sometimes I just get carried away. Also, sorry if this one gets a little sappy at parts.

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Shawn rifled through Lassie's cabinets, looking for anything vaguely resembling a waffle iron and coming up entirely short. How could a man be over forty and not have a waffle iron? Or a smoothie machine, for that matter, or a panini press. It was just a crime against nature. What did Lassie even eat?

But, resilient as always, he'd make do. He knew Lassiter's general kitchen layout, having scoped out his residence several times (all for the good of the public, he'd assured a wary Gus). Sure enough, he found the pans in the cabinet just below and to the right of the stove. They were all organized perfectly, from smallest down to the largest, fitting together so flawlessly that Shawn wondered if he'd ever done more than remove the store packaging and put them in the cupboard.

Grabbing two pans, and a skillet for good measure, Shawn noted the sound of running water upstairs. So Lassiter was a morning shower kind of guy. Good to know. He was half-tempted to go join the detective, lather him up and rub him down, but his stomach rumbled so loudly that it could've registered on the Richter scale. He realized that, despite his pretzel stick architecture escapades yesterday, he hadn't ate since he and Gus ordered Czech for lunch, before he'd been assigned to that club case with Lassie. It'd do everyone better if he made breakfast right now, not that he couldn't save the shower idea for later. Couldn't have all the fun up front.

He set about the kitchen, dropping the pans next to the oven with an unceremonious clatter that he was sure Lassie would hate as he moved to search through the detective's refrigerator. Immediately, he took in the contents–a jug of milk, some American cheese slices, an assortment of generic fruits, butter, leftover Chinese food, eggs, a motley array of condiments and a few beers. Sparse, like the rest of Lassie's house, but not as institutional. It at least had some variety.

Grabbing the eggs, milk, butter and some blueberries, he deposited them next to the stove, more gently than the pans, and moved to a cupboard next to the sink. He found all the dry ingredients there, and a couple of mixing bowls in the cabinet above the microwave. Some water made it into the coffee machine along with some grounds; he knew Lassie functioned way better when given caffeine. Spoons were his last discovery, several large wooden ones that screamed Lassie's sort of classic ideals.

Absently, he began to make up the pancake and waffle mixes, several different jobs as a diner cook rushing back to him like it was just last week. His body worked on autopilot, while his mind drifted over the entire kitchen, memorizing and processing the small details. He'd never actually been in Lassie's kitchen before (not that he couldn't get into the house if he didn't want to), but it seemed to reflect the rest of his house. It was simple, but not austere. There were small flourishes, almost afterthoughts, that made it look just a little more lived in than a display house.

Shawn couldn't help but frown at his surroundings. In the last few years, he'd gotten used to being surrounded by all the little trinkets that comprised his life on the road, haphazardly arranged throughout whatever apartment he happened to live in at the time. It was the accumulation of a life thoroughly lived, reminders of all the places he'd been. Lassiter's house was devoid of this sort of life and that, frankly, what was a life if you had nothing you wanted to remember from it?

Firing up the stove, he poured some batter into a pan and wrinkled his nose as he cracked some eggs into another (might as well make some eggs while he was at it). He wanted to give Lassiter some life, give him something to wake up for besides his job. Sure, his determination to save people was part of what Shawn found so attractive about the older man, but he could stand to loosen up a little bit. Not change entirely–Shawn was pretty sure that even the worst parts of Lassie were things he adored–but just relax a little.

And Shawn could do that, if Lassie would let him. He knew the detective was hard to get to know, all boarded up and walled off thanks to bad relationships in the past. It was just a little extra hurdle, if you asked Shawn, and he'd already made it further than most people could. After all, he'd managed to share a bed the detective after an intense dance, and no sex was had. Already, that was a first for both of them.

He flipped the pancakes and considered how he was going to make the waffles without an iron.

So what was this supposed to be? He certainly knew where he wanted it to go, if his many years of meticulous fantasizing were any realistic indication, and he had a decent feeling about where Lassiter would like to take it. After all, neither of them had woken up and proceeded to freak out, so last night (or this morning, depending on how you looked at it) wasn't some sort of aberration.

Lassiter may have been in denial for the last five years, but he'd somehow gotten over that last night, and thank god for that. There was only so much Shawn could do to try and woo the detective before it turned into a job, and he didn't want Lassie to be work for him. Sure, work was generally fun for him, but he quit work after a while, after he mastered the job and got bored. He didn't want Lassie to be something he'd conquer and move on from.

He scrambled the eggs, grabbing some cheese from the fridge to tear up and toss into the pan. Finished pancakes were flopped onto a plate as new ones were poured out.

Shawn thought about how he'd woken up this morning, with Lassiter's warm lips pressed to his; a swarm of butterflies seized his rumbling stomach. He wanted more mornings like that, a hundred thousand more days waking up tangled in Lassie. It would be perfect, all the challenge they had now without the hard edge of repression.

But that begged the question, what were they? Just because Lassiter was okay with him staying over and making breakfast, didn't mean he was ready for a relationship. They weren't enemies, never had been, but that didn't make them friends before this, not exactly. Sure, they didn't hate each other, even sort of liked each other in a very secret way, but that didn't constitute friendship.

Of course, all that subdued sexual tension could've had something to do with that. Maybe things could be different now, since no one was pretending anymore. They could antagonize each other, sure, but that was just how they rolled. Now, they could be honest, and maybe that meant they could have a real relationship.

Maybe. He didn't peg Lassie as a one-night stand kind of guy, but since they hadn't had sex, this really didn't fall into that category. For all he knew, this was all Lassie needed, and it was all over now. Or, just as likely and way more awesome, this was the prelude to something real.

The second round of pancakes was flipped, and the eggs scooped onto yet another plate, garnished with more cheese that instantly began to melt.

It wasn't even twenty-four hours in, and Shawn was already trying to classify their situation. Even worse, he was failing. He had no idea what to consider he and Lassiter, seeing as most of his relationship expertise involved the first through third dates, and even that was pretty spotty after the first date mark. With Lassie, he'd skipped the first date entirely, as well as any ensuing sex, which put him entirely out of his element.

He didn't really date. Dating meant being tied down in one place indefinitely. It meant being with one person indefinitely, falling into a routine that became predictable. Predictable meant boring, at least in Shawn's world. Abigail had been the one exception to prove the rule in his whole life, and she had been anything but predictable. She was the one person who'd actually left him wanting, the one who ran off to do things that were important to her life. He understood her need to go off and do her own things, and more than understood when she broke up with him. Most people weren't capable of dealing with the life of a cop, or even a psychic consultant for the cops.

A bright idea hit him, and he hurriedly gathered a few things to make some proper waffles.

But that was part of what made Lassie extra special to him, too. He was already accustomed to and aware of every danger associated with the life that they both chose. Between them, there would be no awkward adjustment between civilian and police life. Well, Lassie would still probably worry, since Shawn was technically a civilian, but he'd get used to it because, deep down, he understood Shawn did good work. If he didn't understand that already, he would've had Shawn fired a long time ago.

There was no way Lassie didn't want a relationship, Shawn reasoned. After all, he'd been the one in control last night, ordering the younger man around in a way that was frankly kind of freeing. (And hot. Pretty hot.) And he wouldn't have brought Shawn back to his house, danced with him or allowed him to sleep there if he was wholly against a relationship. That would just be lunacy.

The first of the waffles turned out pretty well for being made with such jury-rigged tools. Another optimistic batch made it into the pan as he heard the water quit running and Lassie's footsteps hit the bathroom floor.

Lassie himself would probably classify everything he'd just named as lunacy. He was possibly the most emotionally repressed person Shawn knew; it was almost certain that, up in the bathroom, Lassie was simultaneously decrying his sudden lack of sanity and wishing he'd given up on it a long time ago. It just like Carlton to beat himself up when you couldn't change the past. They couldn't go back in time and jumpstart this relationship sooner, no matter how obvious it all seemed now. He just had to do his best to prove that this could be a good future for them.

If you asked him, they'd been avoiding this for far too long and while there was an unsettling chance that they'd kill each other eventually, he wanted to see if this could actually work. Besides, death was only the next great adventure according to Dumbledore, and he wasn't the greatest wizard of a generation for nothing.

The latest round of waffles were flipped out onto a plate just in time for Lassie to come padding down the stairs, bathrobe swirling around his pajamas and still-wet hair already halfway coiffed. Shawn turned to smile at him, a plate of waffles in one hand and spatula in the other.

"You actually made waffles," Lassie said, sounding genuinely surprised and maybe, just maybe, a little pleased. The detective glanced up from the waffle array, blue eyes sparkling as he smiled slightly. "You didn't happen to bring a waffle iron with you last night, did you?" Shawn gasped, spatula hand snapping to his chest in mock affront.

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing," he replied. "I'll have you know I made those all on my own, you heretic. I take offense to your lack of faith in my waffling skills." Lassiter, leaning on the back of a chair, just smiled at Shawn.

"Yeah, yeah, Spencer, I get it," he said back, voice light and dismissive. "I'll never question your ability to pull something out of nothing again." Shawn grinned and pulled out a plate for each of them, along with a couple forks and some syrup that Lassie could ponder the origin of for a while.

"I'll hold you to that," Shawn grinned as he handed a plate to the detective. He immediately scooped a pile of eggs onto his own plate, while Lassie grabbed a pancake and two waffles, which ended up doused in syrup. They traded places after a second, moving around the kitchen together like it was natural. Shawn pulled the creamer and sugar for Lassiter, doing his best to make sure the detective realized just how normal this felt, that he wasn't the only one who felt like this was an everyday occurrence.

"Thanks," the taller man murmured, pouring himself a cup and adding his unholy volume of cream and sugar. Shawn didn't drink coffee, didn't need his brain amped up any higher than it already was, but he distractedly wondered what Lassie's mouth would taste like with that coffee on his lips. He found himself staring at those lips, reliving the moment he woke up with amazing clarity, and for once thanked Henry for this ludicrous talent.

Lassiter cleared his throat loudly, drawing Shawn's attention back up to his bright eyes.

"Get a little lost there?" he asked mirthfully. Shawn blinked, a grin spreading across his face as Lassie went to sit down.

"Does it count as being lost if I'm right where I want to be?" he asked back, loving the way the tips of Lassie's ears turned a light shade of pink. The detective just took a drink of coffee to hide the small smile Shawn's words evoked, not that he could hide much from the fake psychic. Embarrassed as he seemed, Shawn knew that Lassie actually liked the affection. It wasn't often he was treated as something other than a cop.

After a second, Lassie opened his mouth to respond, but, all the poor timing in the world centered on them, Shawn's phone began to ring just then. It was still stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans, which were now pooled in a pile up in Lassie's room. Meaning that he'd have to leave, if only for a moment. Damn.

A moment of indecision passed as he glanced between the detective and the stairwell before Carlton nodded at the stairs; Shawn took this opening to jog upstairs and grab his phone just before it went to voicemail.

"Shawn, where are you?" Gus demanded the moment Shawn answered his call. The psychic, already on his way back down to the kitchen, held the phone away from his face for a second, wincing at his best friend's tone, and then gingerly placed it back up against his ear to reply.

"Dude, aren't you on your rounds or something?"

"You didn't call to try and convince me to skip work for lunch today, Shawn. I got worried." Well, that much was definitely true. Shawn usually called to cajole Gus into going out to lunch with him, never mind that he knew Gus' worried voice like he knew every single Billy Zane movie, even that one about the purple guy with the ring in the jungle. This was classic 'I'm worried about you but also fairly annoyed that I'm worried about you' voice. Shawn just chuckled.

"Sorry, buddy, I didn't mean to freak you out. I just had other things going on."

"What other things? You finished that pretzel stick model yesterday, and I took away all the Pringles so you couldn't start building them into Big Ben or something while I was at work."

"Please, Gus, Pringles would make a terrible Big Ben. If anything, Big Ben would be Tootsie Rolls and graham crackers," Shawn snorted. It was just common sense.

"You know that's right," Gus replied automatically before falling back into his annoyed worry. "You still didn't answer my question, Shawn. Where are you?"

"I'm really touched by your concern, man, I really am, but you don't have to be worried." He glanced over to Lassiter, who was alternating between watching this exchange and eating a pancake. "I'm in pretty much the safest place possible." At this small compliment, Lassie gave him an unexpected smile that in turn made Shawn smile.

"You're in the Watchtower satellite that the Justice League uses to monitor Earth?" Gus asked confusedly, jarring the fake psychic from the shared smile. Shawn could almost hear his friend's brow furrowing.

"What? No, Gus, don't be a hula-hooping mariachi band. Of course not."

"Don't try telling me you're in the Avengers Tower, Shawn. You know that's not as safe because it's not in space, and–"

"Gus, Gus," Shawn interjected, cutting off a rant he'd heard enough times to repeat verbatim. When he knew Gus wasn't going to continue, he went on. "Really, I'm okay. I'm just wrapped up in something else today. I thought you'd be happy that I didn't interrupt your other job for once." Gus sighed, loudly and almost entirely in an attempt to make Shawn feel bad. It had stopped working back in high school.

(Except for that time at Legoland, but they had vowed never to talk about that again.)

"I guess you're right, Shawn," Gus acquiesced, not sounding one bit happy about it. "But we're still on for Korean take-out and Square Pegs tonight, aren't we?"

"Pffft, duh," Shawn snorted. "I'd never miss Sarah Jessica Parker night. Talk to you later, buddy?"

"Later," Gus responded, and then the line went dead. Shawn hung up his end and stared at the phone for a second before setting it aside on the counter and looking back to Lassie.

"Sorry 'bout that, Lassiekins. Gus is a worrywart sometimes." The detective raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Shawn took a moment to take a bite of his pancake. Not too bad, if you asked him; Lassie didn't seem to be spitting them out, either, and he trusted the older man to be honest about these sorts of things.

"So," the detective began, thought trailing off into nowhere. He seemed to be thinking through something in his mind, but the thoughts never made it into words. Shawn watched this process for a second before swallowing his mouthful of food and jumping in.

He'd never had this talk before, never gotten far enough to even receive one. With Abigail, it had just sort of happened, but this–this was entirely new to him. A challenge, one that made his insides feel like a skating rink for drunken lemurs, but a challenge he was willing to jump into nonetheless. Lassie was a challenge he wanted to face, and that meant having this conversation.

"So," Shawn repeated, twirling his fork on his plate nervously. There was no good way to broach the subject easily. Instead, he just glanced up at Lassie, eyebrows raised. "How was last night for you?" When the detective's eyebrows shot up, Shawn realized exactly what he was implying, and backtracked, all while smothering a small smile. "I mean, how was the dancing, and the sleeping? Not the sleeping together sleeping, because we didn't actually do it, but–" Lassiter thankfully held up a hand, ending Shawn's rambling before it really gained momentum.

"I liked it," he said simply, meeting Shawn's eyes evenly. The calm of those two true blues settled the lemurs in Shawn's gut, and somehow, all the tension in the room dissolved.

"Good," Shawn smiled. "So did I."

"No regrets?" Lassie ventured, never looking away.

"Well, that's a loaded question," the younger man shot back. "Do I regret not seeing Back to the Future Part Three a fifth time in theaters? Definitely. Do I regret not making you dance with me sooner? Without a doubt, yes. Do I regret dancing with you last night, or snuggling up with your astonishingly warm body afterward? Not one bit." Lassiter seemed to frown at the mention of their extended period of feigned ignorance, like he had in bed earlier, but it vanished as Shawn went on, replaced by his little smile that Shawn loved more every time he saw it.

"Me either," the lanky man replied, sipping at his coffee. "So..."

"So where's that leave us now?" Shawn filled in, finally throwing the question out there. Honestly, it probably could've waited until after breakfast, but he was impatient at his best, and now that he had Lassie, elusive Lassie, within his grip, it was gnawing away at him, this hunger for the truth. He had to know if this would work out, had to know if he could actually have Carlton Lassiter.

He was the one person who didn't take his crap at face value, who forced him to try his best just because it was the right thing to do, not because it was part of living up to some ideal. The person who Shawn saw so much value in, even if Carlton didn't see it in himself. Shawn could see the good man buried under a lifetime of overbearing family life and relationships that didn't know how to handle stubborn, surly men. Shawn could see every positive and negative, and wanted them all.

So, yeah, he had to know before breakfast was over, or he might think himself into a coma.

"Where do you want that to leave us?" Lassie hazarded slowly. Shawn inwardly groaned at the detective's sudden withdrawal of control. Where was the Lassie that ordered him around? Not that he could always be bossed around, but it was fun to put up a fight.

"C'mon, Carly, don't play games with me like that," Shawn jibed, packing a bite of cheesy eggs into his mouth. "I want this to be more than this. I wanna go dancing with you every night."

"No more clubs," the detective replied reflexively, fork pointed at him to drive his point home. A slow grin had already taken over his face, though, spreading like an infectious disease that Shawn would willingly catch if it meant kissing Carlton again. "But I wouldn't mind dancing again, either."

Finally, his answer. The lemurs in Shawn's gut did little happy dances, and Shawn barely resisted the urge to do the same. Some voice in his head saying it wasn't manly, or something. Whatever. He'd totally do it later, in front of that naysayer Gus.

"Awesome," was his simple, if not euphoric, reply. The large grin on his face made it hard to say much else, so he gave it a minute to settle down as Lassie grinned back at him, sipping coffee all the while. "Maybe not dancing again so soon, though. Dinner, here, tomorrow night? I'll bring the tandoori chicken and the Hill Street Blues DVDs, you bring the wine?"

"Sounds great." Carlton grinned back at Shawn. The fake psychic took a moment to reciprocate as he made his way around the island to plant a firm kiss on the older man's lips. As far as second kisses went, Shawn rated it at pretty spectacular, with Lassie applying just enough pressure at all the right times and Shawn moving his tongue into the other man's mouth boldly. Pulling apart after a minute or so, Shawn let his tongue linger across Carlton's lower lip; he thought he heard the detective moan, ever-so-slightly. The younger man himself smiled: coffee tasted amazing when it mixed with syrup on someone else's lips.

Or maybe it was just Lassie's lips. He'd have to try again to find out. But not now, he noted as his stomach rumbled. He'd barely eaten anything, what with this talk getting in the way and all. Lassiter glanced down to the younger man's stomach, a wry grin forming on his lips.

"Go eat something, Shawn, before that beast devours us all." Shawn did as he was told, moving back around to his plate to stuff the rest of a waffle into his mouth. Lassiter just kept grinning and went back to his coffee, leaving Shawn to quietly marvel.

He had Lassiter, sort of. They had a date planned. Which, ergo, meant they were dating. As far as 'catch and date Lassie' plans went, this one was pretty spontaneous, since most of it was almost entirely out of his control, but Shawn wouldn't discount it as a victory. After all, here he was, eating breakfast with a willing Lassie who'd just agreed to date him. It was a victory any way you looked at it, and he'd take it, as long as it meant having Carlton.


End file.
